Prone

I couldn't remember exactly how I got here. I lost some kind of bet with this guy I know. The "punishment" was this, my visit to this sex play room, hidden in a nondescript, industrial-looking building in a sketchy part of town. It's after dark and I thought twice about backing out, but the guy and I have known each other for a while, and a deal's a deal, we agreed.

I'm in a rather Spartan room with fairly dim lighting, but enough lighting that I can see everything going on. It has high ceilings -- probably about fifteen feet -- and the look of the walls and floors suggested it had seen its best days years ago. It looks like it was a warehouse of some sort.

In the middle of the floor is a very large, square netting -- with white, crisscrossed roping of the kind that basketball nets have, only thicker. These ropes, however, are more square in their positioning, rather than the kind of diamond pattern a basketball net would have. The roping is not as firm in texture, either -- it is actually quite soft - comfortable, even. And a layer of the netting about ten feet square is suspended by four posts in the corners.

The soft texture of the roping matters because I'm lying face down on it. I'm spread eagle, legs and arms extended all four ways. I'm in a black T-shirt and matching black khaki shorts. The fly is completed unzipped, and my penis -- currently erect -- hangs helplessly downward. As my arms are tied in place completely, including my hands, I can't reach my penis to do anything. In most respects I am pretty vulnerable.

Perhaps more vulnerable, however, is the subject of my lust. A cute, long-haired blond with a kind face and a slender build lays directly underneath me, perhaps one to two feet under. He, too, is tied down, but he is facing upward toward me.

He is wearing a black croptop that reveals three to four inches of his lovely, flat, hairless midriff, and in the middle of his stomach, his navel is showing -- a large, round innie, sort of shallow like a small shot glass, and at least the diameter of a quarter. The tip of my penis is pointed directly at his navel, my favorite sexual body part on a handsome male.

His navel is somehow operating a device wrapped around my penis that rotates around my shaft, masturbating me. It's a mystery how this works -- I can see no electronics or other apparatus -- but I love his navel and am very turned on by it, so I like that his innie is directly teasing my shaft.

My head and neck are forcibly positioned so I have to look at his navel and my penis above it. The rotating machine works slowly on my penis, and as I lustfully am turned on by his navel, it slowly and gradually begins to speed up.

The blond guy isn't just laying there. He's gently writhing as if he's trying to get away but it seems faked somehow. He may be doing it to turn me on. It's working.

I am looking, gazing, enjoying this blond's navel, seeing its contour and alluring depth, its size, and sensing its softness and warmth. I want so much to caress it, to touch it, to kiss it, but I can't. The tip of my penis is the closest to it by a few inches or so above it, but it's not touching the skin of his stomach.

The rotating machine gently twisting my penis has gotten faster now. It feels good and I'm amazed that I can't move anything else on my body. I'm not fearful or concerned, just intrigued.

Meanwhile, the sight of the blond's navel showing - which I'm being effectively forced to look at - is getting me harder and harder, closer to climax. I writhe a bit myself now, wishing I could directly engage with it, to kiss it or lick it out.

Within ten minutes, the rotating sex appliance is now the fastest it's been, quietly and gently humming away, working my penis with a counterclockwise motion. Its steady cadence of stroking my penis has some irregularity to it; it almost feels like a live guy is masturbating me. The guy who designed this thing is a lecherous genius.

I look consciously at the blond guy with his navel showing once again, framed perfectly by his black croptop outift, and my penis hanging just inches above it, very stiff now, and I see that precum has started to show on the tip of the crown. I feel myself getting the mild orgasmic sensation one feels when one is edging.

I find myself starting to fantasize about what I'd do with this blond if we were both free bodies. About how I would hold him and feel his soft form in my arms, feeling my hands around his bared midriff, stroking his supple, bared sides up and down lovingly, exposed under the hem of his croptop.

When my mind returns to the scene, I see that precum is starting to dangle from my penis. A clear strand of it is an inch in length and growing longer by the second, getting heavier with fluid as my desire to cum on the blond's navel intensifies.

A mild air current causes the strand of precum to sway precariously, just a bit chaotically. I want so bad to run my fingers through the strand, to feel its slippery texture on my fingertips, to drag it through his lovely round navel, just tantalizingly inches from my shaft.

The strand of precum gathers enough dewy liquid that it now breaks off and falls into the center of the deep, center part of the blond's large, open navel. I have a decent view of the navel from on top, but it's not head-on. Still, I can imagine a dot of warm clear fluid from my shaft at the base of his innie now.

His bellybutton is apparently very sensitive because as my precum hits it, he winces first and then lets out a quiet moan.

"My navel," the blond says almost in a whisper, as if it's in peril. I love hearing cute guys say the word "navel" -- fewer spoken words have the power to make me hard.

The whole scene is unbelievably erotic to me. His navel, the precum, my penis, his croptop, his beauty. I can't stand it anymore.

I feel my cum muscles start to give way. I'm looking at his navel, consciously now, with my penis still hanging above it, my moistened crown nearly vertically centered on top of it. The machine is insistently working my penis at this point. It feels amazing.

The dam of semen within me crumbles. And then I start to come, losing control of my penis, and reveling in the release.

A huge first blast erupts, splattering all over his navel, straddling its upper edge and hitting his stomach. He moans. His navel is partly coated in my gray-white, syrupy semen now.

Another blast hits. This glob of cum has more heft and fluid to it, and hits hard enough that I think I hear it. The semen hits his navel, nearly filling it to the top with my thick, clingy fluid. More of it it hits his stomach. It's starting to look messy and I could not be more enthralled.

But there's more. As I'm loving his navel and thinking about how much I love it, and how hot and perfect his navel looks framed by the black croptop he's sporting, another couple of blasts erupt from me, now completely filling his navel to the top, making a full pool of semen that sloshes a bit as the blond hottie mildly flinches with delight. More cum hits his stomach and lower chest, just under the lower hem of the croptop shirt. My desire and the machine are making this blond's navel an erotic masterpiece.

After another couple of deep, heaving, soul-shaking thrusts, and with the machine showing no signs of slowing down, the largest part of my semen load jets into his innie. His navel already full of whitish fluid, the new jizz has no place to go, so it carelessly runs down the sides of his stomach, falling on the mat to which he's pinned.

The rotating sex machine the blond's navel was remotely controlling, enclosing my penis, finally stops. Only our soft panting breaks the silence between us, in the room.

I survey what I've just experienced. My penis, still a bit stiff, has a quite thick strand of semen dangling from it, over his navel, helplessly, perhaps about two or three inches long. It refuses to break off and fall on the navel, so it's just waving defiantly.

His navel is completely filled up and is coated over, my semen gleaming in the dim light. Some of my semen has hit the bottom edge of his black croptop, erotically staining it.

He is starting to moan with pleasure. He wants to be able to reach all the semen I've deposited on his body with my finger, but he can't. Tied down spread eagle, all he can do is feel the semen clinging to his navel. In a moment, he cries out, his body writhing in pleasure, with moan after moan after moan. He has come as hard as I have, inside his own shorts. I imagine the thick, viscous mess his crotch area has now become.

With this incredibly erotic vision, I pass out, the afterburn of my ejaculation still keen in my balls as my eyes close.